Parker said, “I want to know if he’ll go home. What was he going to do with his share, you ever talk about that with him?”
“He had different plans at different times. He was going to go to New York, or Hollywood, or Europe, he didn’t know where.”
“But he was going to leave town.”
“It wasn’t real to him,” Godden said. “He didn’t know what he was going to do.”
“Does he have a car?”
“A motorcycle.”
“Did he have it at the office tonight?”
“No. I picked him up in my car, near his house.”
Parker sat back and tried to figure it. There were three suitcases full of cash. This Roger wasn’t going to load all that on a motorcycle. The way the timing worked, he couldn’t have gotten out of the office more than about fifteen minutes before Parker and the others arrived. And he was on foot then.
With three suitcases?
Parker said, “Does his father have a car?”
When Godden didn’t answer right away, Parker looked at him and saw an odd expression on his face, startled, absorbed, as though he was seeing something in the middle distance that he didn’t at all like.
Parker said, “What is it?”
His voice hushed, Godden said, “I think I know what Roger’s going to do.”
4
”The doc called it,” Devers said.
They were on Haines Avenue, and they’d pulled to the curb a block from the house where Godden had said Roger St Cloud lived. Down there, a block away, at just about the right location to be house number 123, there was all the light in the world, contrasting with the darkness here where Parker and Devers and Webb sat in the front seat of the station wagon and looked out the windshield at all the activity.
There was plenty of activity. At the intersection between here and the St Cloud house there was a patrolman in uniform, standing in the middle of the street, prepared to divert all traffic from continuing on down Haines Avenue. Beyond him three police cars—one black municipal police car and two black and white State Trooper cars—were stopped at angles across the street, their doors hanging open. Beyond that there was a large searchlight mounted on a truck bed, the light on and beamed directly at the house that had to be 123. Uniformed policemen moved in vague spurts on the opposite side of the street, and every once in a while there was the isolated sound of a shot.
It was nearly four o’clock in the morning now, but a crowd had already formed on the sidewalks on this side of the intersection, jostling each other to get a better look. From a few cars parked along the curb, and the number of people in robes, they were probably still mostly neighborhood residents, most likely including people evacuated from the houses right around the St Cloud place. If there were local all-night radio a lot more people would be crowding around the perimeter of the action by now, turning Roger St Cloud’s death throes into live television.
What Dr Godden had said was, “He’ll kill his father.” And when Parker asked him why, Godden said, “That’s the only reason he needs power, to free himself from his father. He’s used clothing, the motorcycle, sarcasm, all limited forms of power, all aimed at his father. Now he’s got real power. He’s tested it, and proved it works. He has three hundred and eighty thousand dollars, which is another kind of power, his father’s kind of power, and he’s going to want to go away and try using that power, too, but first he’s going to want to use the power on his father.
Parker said, “The rifle.”
“Yes. The first thing he’ll do is go home and shoot his father. May I use the phone?”
“No.”
“But there may still be a chance to warn him.”
“You mean tip him.”
“The father I’m talking about.”
“The son I’m talking about,” Parker told him, and then they tied Dr Godden and left his house and drove here, and a block away a searchlight borrowed from the air base was flooding white light onto the St Cloud house, policemen crouched behind automobile fenders were shooting at an upstairs window, and a hundred people were standing on the sidelines and watching.
Webb said, “That’s it.”
“Wait a while,” Parker said.
Devers said, “Let’s get out, move a little closer.”
“We can see from here,” Parker told him.
Webb added, “Without anybody seeing us.”
Someone was using a loudhailer. They could hear it plainly, but just as noise, not broken into words. But they didn’t have to hear the words to know what Roger St Cloud was being told.
Several windows had been lit on this block when they’d arrived, and now that the loudhailer had started up more windows were springing into yellow light. The law couldn’t have gotten here more than five minutes before Parker and the other two. That was better than the other way around.
They watched for three or four minutes. The loudhailer spoke, was silent a while, spoke again, was silent again. Policemen dodged from car fender to car fender, with no apparent destination. It seemed as though everybody was just milling around.
“They’ll think of tear gas in a little while,” Webb said.
Parker nodded. “It’ll be on its way already.”
In the meantime there was sporadic gunfire, with long seconds of silence. The law was using different kinds of gun, revolvers and rifles and at least one riot gun that twice made its monkey jabber, hemstitching a line of bullets across the front of the house.
St Cloud was firing back, too. A policeman went running, crouching, zigzagging across a bit of open space, and then crumpled and somersaulted and lay spread out on the ground. There was a hail of answering fire, and under its cover two cops ran out, grabbed the fallen one by the arms and dragged him back out of the line of fire.
After that there was another period of silence, with here and there a shot as though just to keep up appearances.
Webb said, “Why don’t he hit the light?”
“He doesn’t want to get away,” Devers said. “He wants to kill people.”
Webb frowned. “Why?”
The loudhailer spoke again. When it was still they could hear another sound, high-pitched, twanging, shrill. Devers whispered, “That’s him. Listen to him.”
“It don’t sound human,” said Webb. He looked past Devers at Parker. “Let’s get out of here. He’s got our cash, he’s surrounded by cops, it’s all up.”
Parker said, “Look.”
They looked. Snow was fluttering out of an upstairs window in the house, paper snow, cascading out, glide-glide-gliding to the ground like leaves, green leaves, pouring and billowing out of the window.
Webb said, “Our money.”
“It’s what Godden said,” Devers said, as though to himself. “He’s using power.”
“What the hell is he trying for?” Webb wanted to know. He was getting mad.
“He’s buying them off,” Devers told him. “He’s crazy as a loon in there, he’s using up all his power at once, killing people, buying them off.”
A suitcase had come flying out of the window, spilling the rest of its cash, bills flapping down, tossed by breezes. The people held back at the intersection by the police line didn’t know yet what it was, they just kept watching.
More money came out of the window, and then a second suitcase, open like the first, shooting out of the window as though catapulted, turning over and over in the air, spewing money out in gobs and flurries.
Then nothing happened. Nothing at all.
The second suitcase hit the ground not far from the first, the money fluttered slowly downward through the air, that was all.
The shrill voice started again, its words as indistinguishable as the loudhailer’s, but the voice that drowned it out was as clear as glass. It was a voice from the spectators, and what it shouted was: “That’s money!”
Everthing seemed to stop. The shrill voice kept on, saying whatever it had to say, but nobody was listening any more. Everybody was t
ensed, everybody knew what was going to happen, everybody was waiting for whatever the signal was going to be.
The policemen across from the house were all looking down this way now, toward the crowd, and in the harsh light their faces looked pale and tense and worried.
Webb said, “They ‘re going to—”
The crowd broke.
One second they’d all been back, standing there, straining forward but staying outside the perimeter the police had set up for them. The next second they were all in motion, rushing forward across the intersection and into the bath of light, down on their hands and knees, clutching handfuls of money, swarming on the lawn, the sidewalk, the driveway.
“That’s our money,” Webb said. He glared through the windshield at the mass of people.
Devers pointed higher. “Look at him!”
He was a black comma, leaning out a second-storey window, and the vertical line was a rifle. He was firing into the crowd under him, plinking away, quickly but methodically.
There were screams from down below now, and some people ran back out of the light, but most of them stayed there, scrabbling for the bills, ignoring everything else.
Parker looked across the street, saw a uniformed cop there with a rifle to his shoulder. He was damn finicky, under the circumstances, taking his time, being extra sure of his aim. With all the noise, Parker couldn’t hear the sound of the shot, but he saw the rifle kick in the cop’s hands. He looked back and saw St Cloud drop into the people. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Right.” Webb put the Buick into gear, made a tight U-turn, and they headed away from there.
Devers, disappointment thick in his voice, said, “What now?”
“Godden’s office,” Parker said.
Webb leaned forward to glance at him past Devers, then looked straight again, saying, “Why?”
“Because two suitcases went out the window,” Parker said. “There were three. He was on foot and two was all he could manage. The third one is hidden around there somewhere handy.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Webb, and leaned on the accelerator.
5
”It’s here!” Devers shouted, and the other two came running.
They hadn’t worried about noise or light this trip; time was the important element now. With the Buick sitting with its high beams on in the middle of the gravel parking-lot behind the Monequois Professional Building the three of them had spread out like competitors in a scavenger hunt, first inside the building itself and then around the area in back.
And now it was Devers who’d found it, after fifteen minutes of searching, stuffed into a large metal garbage bin against the rear wall, with papers strewn over it to keep it from casual eyes.
Webb had been going through the pile of leaves at the far corner of the lot, Parker had been searching the hedge along the rear boundary line of the property. They both trotted over to find Devers grinning in the light from the Buick, an old canvas suitcase sitting on top of the now-closed garbage bin.
Webb said, “Is that it?”
“We’ll see,” Parker said. “Open it.”
“Right,” said Devers.
It wasn’t locked. Devers flipped open the two catches, raised the lid, and they were looking at a jumbled untidy mass of bills.
Parker said, “Good. Put it in the car, switch the lights off, come up to the office.” He turned to Webb. “Come on with me.”
”Right.”
The back door wouldn’t close properly since they’d gone through it the last time. Parker led the way into the building and up the stairs, Webb following him, saying as they started down the hall toward Godden’s office, “What do we want up here?”
“The body.”
“If he’s dead.”
“He’ll be dead,” Parker said.
They’d left the office as they’d found it, light on and door ajar, and when they went in now nothing had changed. Ralph was lying with his face turned so he was staring under the desk. Parker went on one knee beside him, closed his hand against Ralph’s throat.
Webb, leaning over the desk, said, “Alive or dead?”
Parker didn’t answer for a moment. His arm showed strain. Then he took his hand away and said, “Dead. We need something to roll him in, so we don’t trail blood.”
“Rug in the other office.”
“Good. Take his feet.”
They carried the body to the outer office, put it on the small rug in front of the receptionist’s desk. When they rolled the rug, Ralph’s feet protruded from the knees down.
Parker said, “We want the money cases, too.”
They went back to the inner office, got the two money cases, carried them out to the hall. Then Parker went back to the office to look things over. There were stains on the carpet behind the desk, but there was nothing to be done about that. No other signs out of the ordinary, and the stains could only be seen if you went around behind the desk. Parker switched off the light, went to the outer office, and he and Webb carried the body out to the hall. They shut the door so it locked, and Devers arrived saying, “What’s up?”
Webb told him, “We’re transporting a stiff.”
Parker said, “Can you carry those two cases? Don’t make a lot of marks on the walls.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Parker and Webb picked up the body again and carried it out to the car. Devers followed, carrying the cases one at a time, bringing one partway and going back for the other and carrying that farther and going back for the first and so on. Because Parker and Webb moved more slowly, Devers could keep up with them and even run ahead and open the tailgate of the Buick for them.
The back of the Buick was crowded with the suitcase, metal cases and body. Parker and the other two climbed in the front and Webb said, “Where now?”
“Godden’s house.”
6
The doctor was sitting on the floor where they’d left him, still tied and gagged. Webb went directly to the dresser when Parker turned on the light, picked up Godden’s keys, and went out to switch cars, putting Godden’s car in the drive and the Buick in the garage.
Parker sat on the bed. “Listen close,” he said. “Because of you, things got screwed up. We can’t use our hideout now, we’d never get out there any more, it’s almost light already. Three of my friends are dead, and two thirds of the money is gone. If I didn’t have any use for you I’d kill you now with a wire hanger. But I can use you, so you’ve got a shot at living. Cooperate and you’ll be all right. Screw up again and it’s all over.”
Godden nodded vigorously.
“All right.” Parker went over and removed the gag. “Don’t do a lot of talking,” he said. “Just answer the questions I ask you.”
Godden nodded again. “I will.” His voice sounded rusty, there were red marks on his cheeks where the gag had bit. The blood on his forehead had dried, so no more was seeping out.
Parker went back and sat on the edge of the bed again. He said, “How long is your wife out of town for?”
“Five more days. She’ll be back Monday afternoon. That is, the two of us are supposed to be back Monday afternoon.”
“You were leaving?”
“Friday. Friday afternoon.”
“Were you due in your office today?”
”You mean tomorrow? The day that’s starting?”
“It’s twenty after four in the morning. I mean today.”
“Yes, of course.”
“How many patients today?”
“Four. Well, three, not counting Ralph Hochberg.”
“Roger St Cloud?”
“Yes. Is he—?”
“That’s two,” Parker said. “What time’s the first session?”
“Ten o’clock. But that would have been Ralph. The next one would be at eleven.”
“In the morning,” Parker said, “call those two patients, tell them you won’t be in today.”
Godden nodded. “All right.”<
br />
“But wait till after the law talks to you.”
Godden looked surprised. “The law? You mean the police?”
“Your boy Roger barricaded himself in the house and shot it out with the cops.”
“My God!”
“They’ll be calling you. If you hear about it some other legitimate way first, you call them, offer full cooperation. Offer to talk to them, tell them anything they want to know. But you don’t want to go to them, you want them to come to you.”
“What if they insist?”
“You insist.”
“But, won’t they be suspicious?”
“No,” Parker said. “When they come here, give them the whole rundown on Roger, anything you want to say. But you keep cool about us.”
“You’ll be here? This is where you’re going to hide out?”
“If you tip about us,” Parker said, “the least you’ll get is your connection with the air base heist found out by the law. The worst you’ll get is a bullet in the head.”
“If I come out of this with my skin,” Godden said, “I’ll consider myself well ahead. Ellen Fusco told me about you, Parker, but I underestimated you, I didn’t really listen to what she was saying.” His face clouded. “I underestimated Roger, too.”
“Just keep remembering that,” Parker said. He got to his feet. “See you in the morning.”
“You’re going to leave me here like this?”
Parker went out, switching off the light.
There was a small light on in the kitchen now, enough to allow him to make his way around in the house. He went down to the kitchen and found Webb at the refrigerator. Webb looked around, a container of milk in one hand and a piece of pound cake in the other. “I was starved.”
“Where’s Devers?”
“Here,” Devers said, coming in grinning, lugging the suitcase. “I thought we could divvy up before I went back.”
Parker looked at him. “Back where?”
Devers was blank. “Back to Ellen’s place, where else?”
Parker said, “Some time tomorrow the law’s going to find those three bodies up by the lodge. Either tomorrow or the next day they’ll get a fingerprint report, and one of those bodies is going to belong to a guy named Martin Fusco. They’re going to look around, and they’re going to see an ex-wife of Martin Fusco’s living right here in town. Coincidence. They’ll go talk to the ex-wife, and they’ll find out she’s shacked up with a guy from the finance office out at the air base. Coincidence number two.”
The Green Eagle Score p-10 Page 14